He went alone. Thomas understood this was a meeting between the law and himself. He didn't need his brothers for this journey. When Polly told him Campbell wanted to speak to him, he scoffed at the idea. Now that he had a few days to think it over, he found the idea appealing. If he could get Campbell to leave him and his men alone for a while, let Thomas gain what he was after, then Thomas would give up the guns.
Hell, Inspector Campbell might become a hero.
He snorted at the idea. A hero. Thomas knew Campbell didn't serve during the war, unlike himself, his family, and Maze. There were no heroics catching criminals. Not even to recover a stolen crate of guns, but what did he know? The day was overcast, much like it always was during the first half of the year. Alone in the car, Thomas looked out over the asphalt road, keeping an eye out for those that wanted to stop him.
Lickey Tea Room was where Campbell instructed Polly to send Thomas. He slipped the information to Maze earlier that morning when he knocked on her door for breakfast. He noted her concern for him, but understood why he was meeting the Inspector. Thomas didn't miss the slight rub of her arm when he mentioned the meeting. It was hell on him to keep his hands to himself when he visited for breakfast. His body flared hotly as he shook his head to push away the sounds she made when he had her pressed against the wall.
His eyes slipped closed, remembering how her skin tasted under his tongue. Thomas slowed the car to a stop, resting his forehead against the steering wheel. He inhaled, pushing down the sudden desire for her. The minutes ticked by slowly until he felt he could continue with his drive.
It surprised him that Campbell wanted to meet him in a tea room instead of some dark room where he could beat the information from Thomas. Not that Thomas minded the tea room. He figured the Inspector was trying to show off. Make it seem like he was a decent man, but in reality, he was worse than Thomas. At least Thomas knew who and what he was and was as honest as he could.
The drive was quiet as he neared the Lickey Tea Rooms. In the distance, he caught a glimpse of the old farmhouse. From what he understood, no one lived there, but Maze mentioned it a time or two in the past. Maybe he would buy it for her.
Arriving a few minutes later, he parked his car and turned it off. Stepping out of the car, he looked around, inhaling the scents of trees and flora that grew there. In the distance, he could hear water rushing like a river. Thomas took another breath, dulling his senses to normal. It wouldn't help if his senses were overloading him during the meeting with Campbell. The overload always gave him a headache.
He walked into the posh tea room, removing his hat as he did, and told the closest person he could find that he was there to meet someone. They instructed him to walk down the hall and it would be the first door on the right. He walked casually, shoving both hands in his trouser pockets.
He found an open door and walked through it. They painted the walls a pink color with ornate gold fringe around each mural on the far wall. The tables had white cloth and silver utensils. He bet the china cups were hand painted. There were a few patrons sitting and enjoying their morning tea. He preferred if there was company in the room, it would keep Campbell from saying something to anger Thomas.
An angry Thomas could be unpredictable.
In the far corner of the room stood Inspector Campbell with a painted china cup in his right hand. The man paced back and forth, waiting for Thomas to make his arrival. Thomas walked over to the Inspector and stood there for a minute, staring at the man who made his life hell since he arrived.
"I chose this place because it's outside both our jurisdictions," Campbell explained sheepishly before asking Thomas if he wanted tea.
Thomas paused for a moment as he eyed Campbell. "Inspector, I came here because I want us to understand each other. I'm a businessman who wants his business to be successful in a peaceful city. Now, I can't have that if you're tearing down doors and frightening people."
"A peaceful city, eh?" Campbell asked, shuffling his feet.
"A peaceful city is a thriving city," Thomas countered.
"So we're on the same side?" Campbell asked, using a tactic to keep asking questions to gain knowledge. It worked for many people, but he didn't know Thomas.
"Perhaps," Thomas said nonchalantly. He couldn't care less about being on the same side as a copper.
They each took their seats across from one another as Campbell moved the flower decoration to the side so he could see Thomas' face better. He could tell if someone was lying to him just by looking, a skill he developed. He wanted to know if Thomas Shelby would lie to an officer of the law.
Campbell pulled out a piece of paper from a pocket in his jacket, hoping to rattle the man in front of him. It was a prescription for iron tablets for Ada. Thomas looked down at it and internally scoffed. This was Campbell's move for intimidation? The copper didn't have a clue about intimidation. Thomas knew the prescription came from Freddie Thorne's bedroom.
"Are you consorting with Communists, Mr. Shelby?" Campbell asked.
Thomas looked at the paper again before glancing back at the Inspector. "No, I don't share their fantasy and as for my sister, I've already handled the situation."
Campbell started the scene by pulling his first play of their conversation. "Freddie Thorne is at the top of my list, Mr. Shelby, so you can forget about him."
"He won't be returning," Thomas assured him, but added. "I can make him part of our…. deal."
"What deal?" Campbell asked, intrigued. It always tickled him that criminals wanted to work out deals with the law. Not that it always worked, but nevertheless, he was intrigued.
Thomas leaned forward a little, propping his elbow on the pristine white tablecloth, "You and your Specials leave my businesses alone from now on. You will turn a blind eye to all my gambling operations. Plus, I am planning on expanding my business and territory to the racetracks."
Campbell shifted in his chair at the audacity of this man before him.
"However," Thomas paused, keeping his eyes on the Inspector, noting how the man shifted uncomfortably in front of him. "You can help me by contacting the Chief Inspector in Gloucestershire. Tell him that his men should leave me alone while I make my move." Thomas instructed, though he didn't dare tell Campbell who's racetrack he wanted. It wasn't any of the Inspector's business.
Thomas watched with little amusement as Campbell patted down his jacket, looking for something. "I don't seem to have a pen for your long list of demands, Mr. Shelby."
And being the arsehole he was, Thomas handed the Inspector a pen.
"What do I get in return, Mr. Shelby?" Campbell inquired, not missing the jab from Thomas.
Thomas eyed the Inspector, wondering when the man was going to ask this question. He hated the man with an untamable passion for hurting Maze and Arthur, especially Maze, since she wasn't a part of his business dealings nor had any idea about the guns.
"I have what you're looking for."
Inspector Campbell leaned back into his chair and wondered how in God's name did this man end up with government crates? His instincts were right knowing the Shelby's had the guns, but he questioned the wrong man. Looking back, he now could tell that Arthur Shelby wasn't smart enough to find the guns, but Thomas Shelby was.
Campbell realized instantly that Thomas Shelby was dangerous.
This unnerved him. He could have Thomas arrested, beaten and interrogated for the information and send him to prison. In hindsight, he probably should have taken that route, but he wanted to play this out. Let Grace do her work and destroy Thomas Shelby emotionally while Campbell destroyed the Shelby legacy.
"I have the guns."
Feigning dumb, "What guns?" Campbell asked.
Thomas shook his head, "I'm not here to play games with you…." he said, rising from his chair.
"Just wait," Campbell pleaded, holding a hand up in peace.
Thomas stilled his feet and glanced down at the Inspector. He took a chance and sat back down. He explained to the Inspector the details of each of the crates he found. All the way down to the last bullet. "Suppose that's the reason they sent you to Birmingham, to retrieve the guns."
Campbell watched Thomas with interest, his own hate for the man before him growing.
"I left word with my men that if I am taken into custody, they will ship the guns to Liverpool. From there, they go to Belfast and into the hands of the IRA. The same IRA you ran out of Belfast, isn't it?" he threatened lightly, before continuing. "I am sure if those guns reach Belfast, then your career will be over. I know you got into enough trouble with the burning of the King's portraits."
"When I am done, you will be the first person to know where the guns are," Thomas promised. "You might even become a hero, be awarded a medal for all I know. It's a fair offer. I suggest you take it... Do we have a deal?"
The Inspector looked at Thomas with a calculating look. He wondered how far he could push Thomas before retaliation. Winston Churchill dressed Campbell down over the burning of the King's portrait, sure, but if he lost the guns to the IRA, his career, nay, his life would be over. He couldn't have that. For now, he would play this little 'game' with Thomas Shelby and when the iron was hot, he would strike and strike hard as he would.
From this second forward, Inspector Campbell was out for blood... Shelby blood and he was going to bathe in it when he was done destroying the gypsy family.
"Very well," Campbell conceded. "But I rather we didn't shake hands on it."
Thomas leaned back as if someone had slapped him. He knew Campbell was a bastard, and this proved it. Thomas stared at the Inspector for a moment, cursing him silently before rising from his chair and tucked the seat under the table. He would tread carefully with Campbell. Thomas could tell that the Inspector was not a man of his word.
Just to push the barb in further, Thomas walked around the table to stand beside the Inspector. "Now why would I shake the hand of the man who didn't fight for his country?" he asked, before grabbing his pen off the table and walking out, leaving the Inspector alone.
Campbell sat alone at the Opera house in London, waiting for Grace to arrive. Their meetings had to be short and away from the prying eyes of Thomas Shelby. Chester Campbell knew Thomas had eyes everywhere and was surprised Grace had not been caught. He sat alone in his box, not paying attention to the show below him.
A few minutes later, Grace arrived, taking her seat beside her boss. "Thomas Shelby is now the beginning, middle, and end of your operation. I want to know everything about him. I want you to get…. close to him. As close as you can without being discovered," he instructed his young protégé.
"Of course when I say do 'everything', I don't mean…." he began, trying to keep the discussion frank but delicate.
"You underestimate me in every way," Grace said forcefully, understanding now she had permission to use whatever skills she gained to catch Thomas Shelby's attention. Though she realized she may have a problem with the woman, she saw him with the other day.
Campbell handed her a gun wrapped in newspaper, letting her know he felt regretful sending her like this, but he knew they must do it if he was going to destroy Thomas Shelby and his ilk.
Thomas awoke from another recurring nightmare of his time in the tunnels. He was fighting for his life, hoping the enemy didn't kill him in the tight tunnel. His head shifted, moving about on the pillow as his mind fought to end the nightmare. Gasping, he sat up in his bed, alone, staring at the wall, still hearing the noises.
It poured outside; the rain lashing against the roof. Outside, Curly ran towards Thomas' flat, hoping to catch him before he fell asleep.
"Tom! Tom!" Curly shouted, banging on the door.
Thomas rose from his bed and pushed back the curtain. "You must come quickly!" Curly cried in the rain.
In quick succession, his nightmare forgotten about, Thomas slipped on a black trench coat and left his small flat to follow Curly in the pouring rain to the horse he acquired from the Lees. As he entered the stable, he saw the horse standing there, tied to a pole with his leg tied up.
He removed his hat and squatted down to inspect the shoe and hoof of the horse, but did not understand what was wrong with the horse. From the corner of his eye, he saw Charlie sitting on the other side of the horse, half asleep.
"Tell me Curly. Tell me what's wrong with the horse!" Thomas demanded, rising to his feet.
"It's a curse Tom," Curly gasped.
Thomas whipped his head around to look at Curly, hoping he heard him right. Leaving the horse alone, he walked over to Curly, who was so distraught, he was practically shaking.
"Shhh... Curly... tell me what's wrong. What's really wrong?" Thomas whispered soothingly.
"You bought her in bad faith at the fair. Th—the Lees put an evil seed in the hoof, got an old woman to put a spell…"
Thomas turned away quickly from Curly to look at the horse. Yes, he intimately knew about curses from gypsies. They cursed his whole family for eternity. A family that was now extinct, leaving the Shelby's dealing with it until their bloodline died out. Thomas felt betrayal and anger roll through him. As his eyes shifted amber, he realized quickly the horse would have to be put down.
There wasn't another way to fix it. He could demand the Lees lift the curse, but there would be a price to pay and Thomas would not pay them anything. Maybe a bullet in each of their fucking heads. His eyes glowed, staring at the horse.
"So the Lee bastards cursed her." Thomas whispered.
"Whatever it is, Curly says it's spread to the other feet," Charlie replied, coming up to rub his hand on the horse's nose.
Thomas buried his head in his hands. He wanted to fucking scream. Thomas understood there was always a price to pay, even if he didn't want to pay. Getting in a fight with the Lee family came with consequences. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. He remembered something Maze said about bad things happening in three's. Was this the third bad thing, or was there more?
"It's going to the heart by tomorrow, I'd say. I've seen curses like this before, Tom. You can't take them back." Curly pressed, pacing around the small stable.
Thomas closed his eyes, listening to all the negative information being thrown at him. He understood deeply, not taking curses back. He wished he could give his curse back.
"I told you, Tommy." Charlie said, trying to hide the smugness he felt and the sadness that followed. "Better to have enemies than black-blood Gypsies."
He finally heard enough. The chastisement from Charlie was the last straw. Thomas knew what had happened. He didn't need his uncle telling him that. He knew what he had to do with the horse. "Get out." Thomas instructed curtly.
Charlie led a distraught Curly from the small stable, leaving Thomas alone with the horse. He looked at the animal one more time before pulling his gun from his overcoat and pointed at the horse. "I'm sorry," he whispered before pulling the trigger.
He left moments later with instructions for Charlie and Curly to dispose of the animal properly. It would do the animal a disservice to leave it to rot somewhere. When he aimed the gun at the horse, it nearly broke him inside. He could never get used to a horse dying. It wasn't so much as a loss of money... that could be replaced, but losing a beautiful animal because the Lees were a vicious lot when provoked.
The rain poured heavily on him, but he didn't notice the wetness seeping into his clothes. Tightening his overcoat around him, he walked in a daze through Small Heath, letting his feet take him wherever they wanted to go. No one spoke to him this late at night. He didn't want to talk to anyone. When his feet stopped in front of the Garrison, it surprised him they didn't lead him to Maze.
He shook the handle loudly, hoping the pub was still opened, but found it locked. Was it really that late, he wondered? The door opened a second later, revealing Grace. She backed up quickly as Thomas pushed his way inside.
"Just get me a drink," he said, removing his hat, smoothing back his wet hair.
He followed her inside the empty pub, seeing beer glasses everywhere. Grace must have closed up for the night recently, he surmised. In reality, he was glad the pub was empty. Thomas didn't wish for anyone to see him like this, except Maze. She would know what to do and say to him. Her words wouldn't bring the horse back, but they would soothe him. Part of him wished now he had turned around once he reached the Garrison and walk to her house. Slapping his hat on the bar top, he reached for the bottle of whiskey that she sat on the bar top for him.
"Should I leave you alone?"
"I came here for company," he replied, wishing it was Maze. He still could leave if he wanted. Maze would comfort him, but he wasn't inclined to keep his hands to himself if he went to see her. Thomas knew Maze would let him crawl into her bed without asking questions.
He popped the cork on the bottle and sat down at the half empty table that was littered with the beer glasses. "Where's Harry?"
"He took the night off. Went to the pictures," Grace replied from her perch behind the bar.
Thomas poured himself a glass and knocked it back quickly, hoping the alcohol would numb whatever he was feeling. He barely noticed Grace sitting down across from him. All he wanted to do was drink and sleep, hoping that tomorrow would be a better day.
"How's your beautiful horse?" she asked, watching him refill his glass.
Thomas shifted in his chair, leaning his head back to sigh loudly. He really didn't want to talk about his now dead horse. "I just put a bullet in his head," Thomas replied quietly. He might have wanted company, but he wasn't in the mood to talk.
"Was he lame?" she asked, trying to be understanding, considering the situation she was in. It never hurt to show compassion. Men were prone to talking when questions were being asked.
He glanced at her with slight disdain. She wouldn't understand curses and how they worked. Instead of telling her the truth, "He looked at me the wrong way." Thomas replied, glancing at her.
He grabbed his glass again and drank half of it before setting it back down on the table with a loud clunk. He didn't look at her as he murmured.
Grace was many things, but an idiot wasn't one of them. Thomas clearly didn't want to talk about the horse he shot. Whatever happened hurt him deeply, she could tell, but she also figured that he didn't want her nosing into his business.
"I dug out a dress you'd like," she said, changing the subject as he handed her a cigarette. "Thanks," she muttered. "Are we going to Cheltenham's? It's a grand affair, is it not?" she pressed, trying to keep the conversation going.
Thomas offered to light her cigarette for her, glad a woman smoked before lighting his own cigarette. Maze refused to smoke cigarettes, no matter how many they offered her.
"The King will be there."
"King George?" she asked with a hint of surprise.
"No," Thomas shook his head, raising his cigarette to his lips. "King Billy Kimber."
"What will I do?" Grace asked shyly.
"For what I'm paying...you'll do what I ask," Thomas declared.
"I also asked you to let me sing," she reminded him carefully. He was being pleasant. No need to strike barbs at him. "That's part of the deal now, too."
Thomas chuckled hollowly. "Since when?"
"Since now," she replied, giving him a bright and sincere smile. "Saturday nights. Everyone gets to sing their songs just like we did in Dublin."
Thomas studied her. The second Harry hired her, Thomas asked around to see if she was legitimate. She was…. sort of. He knew she had never worked in Dublin. He figured she was some rich girl who found herself pregnant and ran away from home. Grace wasn't the first woman who pushed hard enough to gain his attention, but she was the first since he returned home from France.
There was something he found pleasant about her, but he could tell she was hiding something. He always knew when someone was hiding information from him. When he dropped the news about what he thought of her situation, he watched as she clammed up. How her gaze never stayed on his.
"You won't tell anyone my secret?" she asked, lowering her gaze as if she was ashamed. He actually made her situation believable. It hadn't occurred to her to invent a back story in case anyone asked.
"Does it look like I talk to anyone?" he retorted, gazing at her.
"You talk to that dark-haired woman…." she began fishing lightly for a name.
Thomas arched an eyebrow, reaching for his drink. He said nothing as he finished the third glass of whiskey. At first, he thought she was talking about Polly but then he remembered, Grace asked who he was talking to the day Maze told him to fuck off. He told her 'nobody' at the time, but it wouldn't be too long before Maze's name escaped Campbell's puffy lips.
"What woman?" he asked.
"The one I saw you arguing with in front of the Garrison," Grace replied, fingering the beer mug in front of her.
"She's no one," Thomas replied, hoping Grace would stop.
He didn't like it. This was the second time Grace asked about Maze. Thomas wondered if he should warn Maze, but knew she wouldn't talk about private issues. He remembered how Maze directly pointed out that they could see her as a 'weakness' to him.
"What do you sing?" he asked, changing the subject.
"Anything you want…."
He slapped his hand on the table loudly. "Get up on a chair and sing…" He waited a few minutes for her to stand on the chair. When she asked when he wanted to hear, he waited a second before answering. "Something sad…"
"All right, but I promise I'll break your heart," she replied lightly.
"Already broken," he replied quietly, closing his eyes before looking back up at her. He sat and listened to her words. Each note stung his heart a little more. It seemed she was singing about his life. Except the only woman who betrayed him was his home country.
Thomas lowered his head, lamenting for all he had lost being thrown into a war-torn battlefield. The betrayal he felt, as many others did, rooted deeply into his psyche. He wanted nothing more to be free of all his burdens, but too many people relied on him and that sentence uttered by the one woman who hadn't betrayed him sung in his mind as Grace continued her song.
The next morning found him standing at Maze's front door. He wanted to come to her the night before, but didn't. Once he left the Garrison, he wandered the streets a little longer before retiring for the rest of the night. When he rose the next morning, his tired, bleary eyes knew he hadn't slept. Instead of entering through the front door, he changed his mind and snuck around to the back of the house, where she kept her allotment and pushed the back door opened.
Thomas grasped the doorframe as the arousing scent of her sent a shiver through him. It had been a few days since he saw her and the wolf reacted to her presence just as much as he did. He saw her in the kitchen, standing at the large table in the middle of the room, chopping. Her ensemble made his imagination run wild. Eyes raked over her body; from the sleeveless blouse she wore to the incredibly short trousers she wore. He truly appreciated the modern clothing she preferred when alone in her house. He walked into the kitchen quietly, blanching at the heat coming from the stove on the other side of her.
His eyes fluttered shut before opening again, his mind centered on her scent and the urge to touch her grew enormously. Before he could stop himself, he crossed the room, placing his hands on her narrow hips.
"You're lucky you're the only man who is allowed to cross the property line and enter my house without asking," she said lightly, slowing her chopping down.
Thomas didn't hear her words. He was too absorbed in her scent that he wanted to linger on his skin. His fingers gripped the thin fabric of the apron she was wearing, his short nails pressing against her skin. Slowly, he inhaled, moving his head from her shoulder to her ear, his nose tickling the skin sensually.
A tiny whimper escaped her lips as he listened to her breathing change. He growled low, pressing his body against her frame, pinning her between him and the table. Her chopping was long forgotten as he continued to gently tease her body with his hands. His skin prickled as if it was on fire. He hissed, sliding his fingers up the tight fitting sleeveless blouse she wore, touching her soft skin. Thomas felt the muscles under her smooth skin jump to his attention.
He slowly spun her around to face him. His amber eyes shined in her dark ones as she wet her lips, her eyes flickering over his face before burying his face in the crook of her neck. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders as he assaulted her neck. Thomas felt the vibrations of her moan against his lips as he gently kissed the skin. He was lost. Lost in her scent and touch. Before she could protest, he lifted her up and sat her on the table, stepping between her inviting legs.
Opening his amber-colored eyes, he cursed quietly, seeing pleasure cross her face. Her apron rode up high on her thighs, exposing her bare legs to him. Closing the distance between them, his cock thickened as his mind reeled from her touch as she removed his coat before her nimble fingers unbuttoned his waistcoat.
He wanted her.
He wanted to sink himself inside her and claim her for his own.
Short nails scratched his scalp, making his amber eyes roll in the back of his head. Thomas lowered his head to nuzzle his nose into her jugular. The wolf, once again, begging to bite her. His tongue darted out to flick over her skin, making her shudder against him deliciously.
"Thomas, we have to stop," she gasped, sliding her hand down the front of his opened shirt. He felt her pause at the waistline of his trousers. Her fingers uncertain how far to push their exploration.
"I don't want to," he whispered huskily into her ear.
She moaned softly hearing his words, but gritted her teeth and placed her hands on his bare chest and gave a gentle push. Thomas sighed and pulled back slightly from her, but kept his hands on her bare thighs. He opened his eyes first, trying to smother his want of her, and watched as she opened her eyes. They were dark, unlike his own.
He inhaled sharply when she bit down on her lower lip. "What is it?"
"What's happening between us?" she asked, eyeing him.
He sighed, lowering his head before looking back at her. "I don't know. I can hear the wolf urging me to touch you. He constantly does it…."
Her eyes widened at his admission. Arousal shot through her at his words. He wanted to touch her. Touch her in ways that made her thighs tremble and her heart speed up. She knew the wolf controlled most of his deeper actions, but it was essentially Thomas doing all the work. A small part of her wondered if Thomas wanted her on his own terms, but she remembered how he would look at her before he shifted. The wondering and longing she would see slip over his blue eyes when they were alone.
It reminded her of the night that he saved her. He had already shifted by that time, but the emotion was thick and demanding, even then.
"Constantly does it?" she questioned quietly, her fingers playing with his opened shirt.
Thomas nodded slowly. "He's been far too demanding since we returned home." he paused, flicking his eyes down the swell of her breasts, wishing to taste the skin, then looked at her. "And so do I."
"You do what?"
"To touch you….," he mumbled, scaling his nails lightly on her thighs. He enjoyed feeling the muscles tremble under his touch.
Her heart hammered against her ribcage roughly. He wanted to touch her on his own terms. The thought sent her swirling down a hole she didn't want to crawl out of. It worried her things were so heated between them when they were supposed to be friends, but friends didn't touch each other like they did.
"Will you find out?" she asked, pushing herself closer to him to hop off the table. Once her feet touched the arctic white linoleum, she shivered, feeling his solid body pressing against hers. Self-control was a bitch, she griped to herself. Then she peered at him. In her blind lust, she failed to notice something was wrong with him. Though, she countered, he said nothing except to taste her skin with his lips and hands. "What's wrong?"
He looked down at her, sensing she realized something was amiss with him. She would have asked sooner if he hadn't touched her. Touching her was a momentary reprieve from what he was feeling. "That horse I bought from the Lees," he began, taking a step back to button his shirt. "The bastards cursed the horse."
She raised a hand to her mouth, before closing her eyes in resignation of what he had to do. "I'm so sorry, Thomas."
He shook his head, hiding how much it affected him to shoot his own horse. "Charlie and Curly buried it this morning." He reached for his waistcoat, slipping it on before finding his coat.
"Do I want to know what you're going to do?" she asked, watching him move around the table, away from her. It pained her to see him walk away, leaving her bereft of his warmth.
He glanced at her, amused she would ask a question like that. "Don't worry yourself. It will be taken care of soon."
Maze snorted softly, rolling her eyes at his evasiveness before she turned back to her chopping.
"What are you making?" he asked, picking up a sliced strawberry.
"Strawberry preserves. Polly wants something other than peaches," she replied simply. Before he walked out of her kitchen, she grabbed his hand affectionately before letting go.
